You are the most temperamental orchidI have ever come across.By the window, you’re too cold.On the table? There’s just not enough sun.You prefer the spot right in frontOf the big screen TV.

You’re obviously near-sighted.Look— I can’t stand worrying about you every dayWill you or won’t you stay alive?I arrive and one bud wilts while the other flourishes.

It confuses me so much!One touch of heat makes you witherThe slightest breeze and you shrivel up?What… the fuck?

You are the most difficult floral décorI have ever had the pleasure of watering,Once a week, I make sure there’s no standing water.So, why won’t you open up to me?

I reread the instructions attached to your vaseIn case, just in case, I happened to miss a tip from the fine printI wish you to be in mint condition, baby,Give me hints on how to best help because

Signs of rot or decay sadden me.Does your chlorophyll let you get your fill of sunlight?I hear it’s the blue portion of the electromagnetic spectrumthat soaks up the most brightness,

But you, you’re just so self-absorbed sometimes.You’re making me a persnickety person. I’m finicky and fussy taking particularly nitpicky measures with you.Your roots look parched and ‘bout ready to break,No, don’t fake it with me.I can’t take that kind of tomfoolery.

Do or do not, there is no trial and error basis for thisBeautiful, as you are, it’s my patience you’re pushing.Yes, okay you got me, I’m no botanist.But I can sing a few bars for you

Maybe say a few prayers for you,Speak to you with care andBe on my tiptoes for your growth and progress.I could herald the patron saint of plants for you,

But you won’t catch me holding my breath for you.I got my own roots to respectMy own bloom to to see through.I, too, need vitamin D in my pores to keep calcium in tact.

It’s a fact that you areThe most facetious, flippant, flowerWith such pigmentation you’d think was just a figment of imaginary poofage.But you’re the proof that you can stand just fineBy yourself,

Without attention from yours truly.You are truly an optical magnet in the roomA significant topical component that assumesA sight to behold despiteThe brevity of your life expectancy.

You make now look vibrantAnd soon look promising.You make home feel less lonelyAnd your saucer worthy of complete and undivided awareness.

Your petals are precious and so are your stems.You make movement toward being a grown-upand full-form look damn right majestic.You’re not just planted on the ground, you’ve stuck a perfect landing.

And me? I’m just grateful that you have such patience.With my impatience and insistence.From this poem on, I’ll meet you at your pace.

Roses are red.Orchids can be shades and hues of violet and blue.You make my life better,Even though you prefer the spot right in front of the big screen TV.

Obviously, you’re worth it.

A Toast to Domestic ViolenceA toast to the reason to leaveAnd pick up the shards ofJagged frozen liquid used to Shatter up the rose-tintedMostly twisted takeOn a TV-drama plot realityWorth about eleven Academy Awards.A toast to the reason to moveOnto spaces that would rather knowWhat pure laughter sounds like andWhat your children’s chatter sounds likeInstead of the sounds of muscles straining to keep your personal bubbles air tight!Alone, you hold the balancing choiceOf a padlock key turned confidentlyOr a pad lock smack across the temple of a someone You thought was worthyOf your time,Of the alibis, and the chess-move liesYou tell your friends so you have more seconds scott-free to be heldBut duct tape was mistaken for Scotch tapeAnd hostage isn’t what you wanted to beSo, a toast! To the sharpest edges of reality checks!Worth more than the Powerball at a billion bucks‘cause peace of self and safetyAin’t contained in bandages and turns of phrases.They’re cashed in for the truth that holds to be self-evident:You’re worth respect and reverence,So, a toast to domestic violence!The reason to leave andPick up shards of jagged blessed innocenceTurned stained-glass mosaics.

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Grace Pasco, a spoken-word poet from Silver Spring, Maryland has a favorite saying: “so be afraid, then do it anyway.” Her love for performance poetry has only grown since her first open mic with Bangkok Lyrical Lunacy, where she discovered a strong sense of community. She now performs in Washington D.C. at Spit Dat and Busboys and Poets. Grace was one of four featured poets at a collaboration event called Signal Flair. She has also been featured in District-W Magazine for Art and Culture in April 2015. She believes in poetry and its power to translate emotions, package experiences, and build communities.